


Roaming Holiday

by Goddess47



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Steter Secret Santa 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess47/pseuds/Goddess47
Summary: Peter just wanted some time for himself.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 14
Kudos: 195





	Roaming Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asarcasticwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/gifts).



> For Steter Secret Santa 2020 for **asarcasticwitch**. You asked for King Peter and this is what happened. I hope you enjoy it!

It was an uncharacteristic moment of inattention from the palace guard. Something drew their focus away from him and... Peter took shameless advantage of it. From the morning briefing, he knew they were supposed to follow the corridor to the parking garage and... he went out the fire door instead.

He knew he didn't have much time before the guard would be on his trail. He looked up and down the street. Perfect! A coffee house. He resisted using his 'wolf speed and walked quickly but casually toward the storefront. There were enough other 'wolves in the general area that he wouldn't be unusual, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. He did use his ability as an Alpha to suppress his aura and scent before he touched the door. 

Fuck! He caught a glimpse of Erica running through the fire door he had just left. She was the head of the detail for good reason -- she was quick, smart, and dedicated to his protection. He ducked into the coffee shop, grateful for the dark interior. Fortunately, there weren't many customers. He glanced out the window -- Erica was coming closer.

He headed to the rear of the shop which formed an alcove that couldn't be seen from the street, finding a young man sitting with his laptop. Maybe not as young as Peter initially thought as bright amber eyes looked at him.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Please," Peter said. "I... I'm trying to hide from..." Damn, how did he explain Erica? Oh! "A crazy ex-girlfriend. Can you help me?"

Amber-eyes looked around the small space. "Dude, there's not much to work with here."

"Please, I'm desperate." Peter just wanted some time to himself. 

A sigh. The man stood. "You'll owe me for this. Come and sit here." He pointed to the chair. "And I'm gonna need to touch you." He held up a hand. "Nothing too skeevy, just... it only works if I can touch you."

Peter nodded and moved around the table to sit in the chair. 

"Okay, just relax and try not to wiggle around too much." The young man swung a leg over his lap and straddled him in the chair. Hands went on Peter's shoulders for a moment. "Now, kiss me."

Peter's hands settled on slim hips. The hands on his shoulders went behind his head. Peter tilted his head back and warm, soft lips met his. He felt a _frisson_ of magic that he immediately forgot about in the heat that developed between them. Peter moved his own hands to bring the young man closer.

Peter got lost in the kissing and when the young man started to move away, he chased after the lost lips.

"Hey! Easy! I think she's gone." 

Peter opened his eyes, to see the amber eyes blown wide and a pink flush on cheekbones. He smelled cinnamon and mint, it was intoxicating. The lips looked thoroughly kissed. Maybe not enough... he leaned closer for more...

"Dude! I need you to breathe for a minute!" 

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The cinnamon and mint faded just a bit. Another deep breath. He loosened his tight hold on the lithe body and leaned back.

"Don't call me dude!" Peter said, coming out of the daze.

"It's better than 'hey, you!' since you didn't give me your name and I've just done you a huge favor." 

Peter blinked and looked around. They were alone. "I think you have."

"I know I have. If you let me go, I can get off your lap."

Peter reluctantly took his hands off the young man but then grabbed him when he almost fell to the floor trying to get out of Peter's lap. 

"Yeah, call me clumsy." The second try worked better.

"Well, I could call you Clumsy, but I suspect you have a real name," Peter drawled.

"Oh. Desperate man has jokes!" But a bright smile came with that jibe. "I'm Stiles." He held out a hand.

Peter took it without thinking. "Peter." Damn. He should have used another name! Too late now.

"Good to meet you," Stiles said, giving a firm handshake. 

"Thank you for your... assistance," Peter fumbled. 

"Okay, how crazy is this ex?" Stiles asked. "There aren't a lot of places to hide in this area and she's likely to come back here to double check."

"Pretty crazy." Erica was really good at her job. She'd be back. "Can you help me get out of here?"

"What? Do I look like Jason Bourne?" Stiles asked. 

"Who?" Peter frowned. Was that someone he should know?

Another sigh. "Okay, you're hopeless," Stiles decided. He reached around Peter and packed up his laptop, slipping it into a backpack. "We can go out the back and try our luck there."

Deciding to just roll with it, Peter said, "Okay."

"If you turn out to be the crazy ex, I am not going to be happy," Stiles muttered. "This way."

The back of the alcove had an emergency exit that Stiles opened cautiously. He looked around and waved at Peter. "Come on, the coast is clear."

Peter followed Stiles out the door, into a small alley between two rows of businesses. It was cluttered but relatively clean -- it must be used by customers on a regular basis so it was worth someone's while to keep the space usable. Stiles went to the other side of the alley and led him to a walkway between two buildings that opened on to a parking lot. 

"Where are we going?" Peter asked.

"First of all, we'll get away from here to make sure we're away from your ex," Stiles said. "Then we'll figure out where to go. Good enough?"

Peter nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

Near the end of the walkway, Stiles stopped for a moment and looked around. "See anyone you know?" he asked softly.

Peter looked around. There weren't many people and no one he recognized. He just hoped no one would recognize him. He kept his head down. "No. No one."

"Okay, I'm over here." Stiles led the way to a robin's egg blue jeep. Peter stopped. "Come on, dude. I don't care, but if you want to get away we need to move."

"It's... blue." Peter stuttered.

"Hey! It was my mom's," Stiles protested in outrage. Peter got a brief scent of fondness, tinged by sadness. "In or out but I'm going."

Peter took a deep breath. _Fuck it._ He moved toward the passenger door and got in as Stiles dropped into the driver's seat. "Sorry, just... not what I was expecting."

"Seat belt." Stiles said as he started the jeep.

"Pardon?"

Stiles sighed. "Fasten your seat belt."

Peter looked down. He hadn't worn a seat belt in years. As a 'wolf, it took a lot to hurt him, and the limos he usually rode in had extra security in the rare event it did crash.

"Look. I'm not going anywhere until you put it on." Stiles glared at him.

Peter reached down for what he hoped were the right straps. He fumbled when he tried to clip it together, only remembering the instructions given by the staff on his private jet -- instructions he usually ignored. He got the seat belt buckled and was startled when Stiles reached over and tightened the strap.

"There. Now we can go." Stiles backed out of the parking spot and drove away from the center of town. "You hungry?" 

"Umm... maybe?" Peter hedged. 

"Okay, I didn't get enough coffee before you came crashing in, so I need more before I can do anything," Stiles announced. 

"Okay..." 

"I know a place," Stiles grinned. "Trust me."

And for some inexplicable reason, Peter did. "Sure." Then he realized. "I don't have any money."

Stiles sighed. "Good thing you're cute. It's breakfast and it'll be reasonable. I can afford to treat."

"I'll pay you back," Peter promised. He wasn't sure if he was affronted or pleased. No one had called him _cute_ in years. At least not to his face.

"Nah," Stiles waved a hand. "Not a big deal. Like I said, I can afford a couple of meals."

"You said this was your mother's... vehicle?" Peter asked.

"Be nice! Roscoe and I go back a long way," Stiles shot back. "But, yeah. My mom died when I was in grade school and my dad hung on to the jeep for me. Like, I have other things from her but I feel closer to her in the jeep."

Peter thought of all the things he was surrounded by every day. Nothing was as meaningful to him as this ramshackle vehicle was to this young man. 

Stiles pulled into a parking lot of a diner. 

"We're going to eat here?" It didn't look like much. Peter would never have given it a second glance.

"Don't look down on it until you've tasted the food!" Stiles pointed a finger at him.

Peter held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." He turned to get out of the car and was jerked by the seat belt he forgot to take off. He fumbled at the latch and finally found the release. He got out of the jeep.

Inside the door, a bored looking waitress straightened up when she saw them. Her eyes got big for a moment and Peter was sure she recognized him.

Stiles put a warm arm around Peter's waist. "Belinda, my savior! I'm in dire need of coffee and my friend here is starving. Can we have the back table?"

Belinda's eyes narrowed for a moment before she nodded. "Sure. Seat yourself and I'll bring coffee. Do you need menus?"

Stiles waved a hand. "Nah, we'll be fine." He led the way to a table in the back corner of the eating area. Interesting that Stiles found another alcove to sit in.

"Have a seat," Stiles waved a hand. Stiles took the seat where he could see anyone approaching them and Peter was shielded from most of the room. Someone would have to come right up to the table to see him. Peter could smell food and coffee, but underneath it smelled clean. This had possibilities.

Belinda brought coffee and water for both of them, leaving a carafe of coffee on the table. "What will you have?"

"I'll have the meat lovers omelet, with a side of bacon, toast from your homemade bread. My friend will have your blueberry pancakes with the homemade jam and whipped cream, and a side of bacon."

"I don't..." Peter started to protest.

"The man with no money doesn't get to protest," Stiles said firmly. 

Belinda looked at them both.

"Long story," Stiles said. 

"I bet," she drawled. "I'll have this right up."

"Thanks!" Stiles said with a broad smile. A smile Peter suddenly wished was for him.

Stiles chattered on about the history of the diner to fill the time while they waited for their food. It wasn't long before Belinda was back with more plates that Peter thought might be necessary. She grabbed the carafe Stiles had managed to empty while talking non-stop and was quickly back with a refill. "Anything else?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nah. We'll be fine for a bit. Thanks." She left them alone.

Peter looked at the expanse of food in front of him. He hadn't seen this much food since the last State dinner.

"Eat up! Your Majesty." Stiles took a huge bite of his toast and started chewing.

Peter panicked. "Wait... what... I have to..."

"You have to eat," Stiles said around his mouthful of toast, pointing a fork at him. "It's rude to order food and not eat any of it."

"I didn't order any of this! You did!" 

"Still. Eat. You'll feel better." Stiles cut into his steaming omelet and shoved a too large piece in his mouth. Peter bit back a laugh when Stiles started waving his free hand in front of his mouth and mumbling "hot... hot... hot..." He took a drink of water. "Or I can call someone to come and get you and you can go back to... whatever."

Peter looked at Stiles carefully. "You knew."

A shrug. "You look like... you. But I knew that sound in your voice because I've sounded like that myself. You need a day to play hooky. You don't have to do it with me but... You. Will. Eat."

No one had talked to Peter like that since he was a child. He bristled for a moment then... just gave in. He picked up a fork and took a bite of the ridiculous stack of pancakes with the overflowing whipped cream.

It melted in his mouth. He took another forkful and groaned.

"See? Good, isn't' it?" Stiles said, not stopping eating. 

It wasn't long before Peter was scraping his empty plate.

Peter fixed himself another cup of coffee -- something that was normally rationed since _it's not good for you to drink too much caffeine_ \-- and sighed happily.

Stiles was finishing up the food in front of him. "Told you it was good."

Peter nodded. "You did!"

"Okay, I figure we have two basic choices," Stile said, suddenly business-like. "I can call the local cops and they can come and take you back to wherever you should be and you can go on and do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing."

"Or?"

"Or we can go to the Holiday Faire in Beacon," Stiles offered. "We can ride the rides, play rigged games, gawk at the people, and eat the carnival food which will be fattening and of dubious quality."

"You're really selling this," Peter laughed. "And I have to figure that someone's going to recognize me. Occupational hazard."

"Nah," Stiles said. "Ditch the fancy sweater and put on a baseball hat. No one will look at you twice."

"I haven't worn a baseball hat in... decades!" Peter protested.

"Exactly! It will be so out of character that no one will question it." Stiles bounced a little on the bench. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I'm not keeping you from anything?"

"Nope. I was just doing some last minute preparation for a job interview. It's not really a job I want but I promised my mentor I'd apply." Stiles shrugged. "It's a stretch for me, but that's not important. Holiday Faire or back to whatever."

Peter sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. When was the last time he did something for himself? It had been entirely too long. Then the scent of cinnamon and mint wafted over to him.

"Let's go to the Faire," he found himself saying.

"Yes!" Stiles fist pumped. He looked at Peter carefully. "You should fit into one of my hoodies and... wait a minute..." He dashed off and came tearing back holding a dark blue baseball cap with the name "Belinda's" embroidered across the front. "Belinda has them for the cooks that won't wear hair nets and I'll owe her a favor but it's fine."

"You don't need to do that on my behalf," Peter protested. 

"Think of it as learning something about the locals," Stiles said. "Besides, it'll give you an excuse to come back here at some point." 

Peter turned the cap around in his hands. Before he could think too much, he put it on.

Stiles smiled at him. "Looks good. Let's go!"

"I still don't have any money," Peter protested.

"When's the last time you actually handled money?" Stiles asked patiently. "Real paper money?"

Peter thought about it. "Months?" He just pointed and someone took care of the bills.

"You're good for it. And it's my treat. Relax and enjoy."

Peter took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay? That's it?" Stiles said.

"Yes. That's it." Peter nodded firmly.

"That's the spirit!" Stiles cheered. "Ready?"

They stopped at the register and Stiles pointed. "Umm... use the bathroom here. The facilities at the Faire will be... very basic."

"Oh. Okay." Peter went into the small washroom. He tried not to breathe too hard but for a semi-public bathroom it was relatively odor free. He peed and washed his hands. He looked at himself in the mirror. The hat was startling, yet it was so unusual that it might make a difference. When he came out, Stiles slipped into the room.

Belinda was at the register and Peter went over to her. She looked at him and he knew she recognized him. He took her hand and held it for a moment. "Thank you. Breakfast was amazing." 

She dimpled in pleased surprise. "You're welcome. Come back any time."

"I just may," Peter promised.

Stiles came out of the rest room. "Thank you," he nodded at Belinda. 

"You two go off and have a good time!" She waved them out.

Stiles stopped at the back of his jeep and dug into the space behind the rear seat. He pulled out a dark blue hoodie that almost matched the hat Peter had. He handed Peter the hoodie.

"Take the sweater off and put this on," Stiles directed. "It's a little big on me so it should fit you pretty decently since you have broader shoulders. Not that I noticed. I'll stop talking." He held it out. "It's clean. Just... crumpled. And if you change here, no one will notice when we get to the Faire."

Peter took it and shook it out. "Crumpled doesn't begin to describe the condition of this garment."

"It's for emergencies! And who's going to expect you in something like that?" Stiles countered.

"Too true," Peter agreed ruefully. He took off the very nice cashmere sweater but didn't hand it to Stiles, even though he held out a hand for it. "I'm not going to see this crumpled in the back of your jeep."

"I know, I know. It probably cost more than my jeep is worth. I know how to fold things like that. I usually don't bother is all," Stiles protested. Peter watched as Stiles did a credible job of folding the sweater. He placed it carefully on the rear seat of the jeep.

"One phone call," Stiles held up his phone. "Not about you."

Peter shrugged. 

"Hey, Daddio!" Stiles greeted whomever answered the phone. From the greeting, Peter assumed it was Stiles' father. "Listen, I'm going to break our dinner date for tonight." Some nodding. "Yeah. I got, well, let's call it a one-in-a-lifetime offer, so I'm going to take that. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." Stiles winced. "Take Melissa out to dinner. You don't get to do that very often, do you?" Stiles grinned. "Yes, I'm still going on that interview tomorrow. I'll be fine." Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes, dad. Safe, sane, and consensual. I got it." Another nod. "Love you. Talk to you tomorrow."

"You didn't have to cancel with your father for me," Peter protested.

"It'll be fine," Stiles said easily. "I've been away at school the past couple of years and I'm staying at his place. I'll be there for at least a week, so we have plenty of time to have meals together."

"You sure?" Peter asked gently.

"Hey! I wanted to go to the Holiday Faire and I get to go with you! How can I beat that?" Stiles grinned.

Peter grinned back helplessly.

"Onward!" Stiles said, getting into the jeep. He waited for a minute before reminding Peter, "Seatbelt."

"Oh, right." It was easier to put on at this point. 

"Dude, don't you ever wear a seat belt?" Stiles asked as he pulled onto the road.

"Honestly? No."

"That's not safe!" Stiles protested.

"Werewolf. It takes a lot to hurt us," Peter said smugly.

"Oh, sure. _You_ don't get hurt, but what about the folk around you?" Stiles persisted. "Unless you're the only one in the vehicle, you'll get knocked into someone else or maybe even thrown out of the car and take someone with you. It's not always for you, it's for other people."

"Hmmm." Peter hadn't thought of it that way. 

"Whatever. My car, my rules. So don't forget!" 

"Yes, Stiles," Peter said dutifully.

As they drove to the Faire, Peter played with the radio listening to Stiles squawk when he'd land on something he evidently didn't like. It didn't take long to find that Stiles did not like country or rap, Peter disliked them also, while blues or classical were unexpectedly acceptable. He settled on a classic rock station, letting the music serve as background.

"We're here!" Stiles announced. He pulled into a field that was being used as a parking lot and was directed to a parking space.

"Do you need to lock it?" Peter was curious.

"Nah. The only valuable thing in it is your sweater and no one should bother it," Stiles said. 

"Okay," Peter frowned. "If you say so."

"Dude, I'll buy you another sweater if it disappears," Stiles promised.

"I'll consider it my reimbursement to you."

"Oh, it'll be there when we get back," Stiles grinned. 

There didn't seem to be an entry fee, which meant they were suddenly inside the Faire. Peter had to stand still so he could take a moment to adjust to the increase in smells from people, food... and he could smell a small variety of animals. 

"Okay?" Stiles asked as he patiently waited.

"Just need a moment," Peter admitted. 

"If it gets too overwhelming, let me know and we'll take a break or just leave."

"I don't have to deal with large crowds too often," Peter explained. "It's something I can get used to managing. I'm just out of practice."

"Let me know when you're ready, then."

Peter took a couple of deep breaths, letting the almost overwhelming variety of scents wash over him. "Okay, I'm good now," he said.

"I like to walk around once," Stiles said. "Just to see where everything is. Then go back around again to actually stop at stands or whatever."

"You're the guide," Peter said. "Lead on."

Stiles narrated their journey through the Faire. He commented on the booths that he was familiar with or that he wanted to stop at later.

"You know, we just ate," Peter said when Stiles commented on yet another food booth.

"We're here to eat all the food!" Stiles protested. "That's half the fun!"

"Didn't you say most of it was dubious?"

"It's safe enough to eat," Stiles assured him. "But just about all of it is bad for you. That's the best part."

"Ooo-o-kay," Peter said.

Stiles dragged Peter to a food booth. "One large," he said, handing over the needed money. Stiles turned and handed Peter a tiny paper cone with a serving of cotton candy that was bigger than his head.

Stiles took a hunk and shoved most of it into his mouth.

"Go ahead! It's best when it's fresh like this!" Stiles said.

Peter took a small bit and put it in his mouth. 

"It's all sugar!" Peter protested.

"You've never had cotton candy?" Stiles stared in amazement.

Peter shook his head. 

"Oh, man, you've been deprived," Stiles moaned. "Eat some more!"

Peter put another bit into his mouth and found he enjoyed the sensation as it melted away. 

"See? Better?"

Peter nodded. "Not something I'd eat all the time, but it's acceptable."

"I only get it at the Faire, or if I get to go to a circus or something like that," Stiles replied. "It's a treat, something you only get a couple times a year."

"That makes more sense," Peter agreed. He handed the cone back to Stiles. "You can finish it."

"You sure?" Stiles said as their fingers brushed around the cone. 

"Very," Peter nodded.

"Okay, but now you have to eat all the food," Stiles said. "There will be lots of things here I'll bet you've never had."

"I suspect there is," Peter said dryly.

Stiles seemed to inhale the rest of the cotton candy as they walked. It didn't stop his commentary on the various booths and his plans for stopping at some on their next time through.

It took a while but Peter finally realized that in the hat and crumpled hoodie that _no one recognized him_. It was a liberating feeling. 

"Let's try this." Stiles steered Peter toward a game booth. It looked pretty simple, one had to pop balloons with a dart. They stood and watched as a teen-age boy tried, and failed, to pop a balloon to impress the girl he was with. He paid for two attempts and finally gave up.

"This should be simple," Peter said softly.

"Balloons are thicker than they look, and are only partially filled to minimize the surface tension. And the darts aren't as sharp as they seem," Stiles said back to him.

"Then... why are you doing this?" Peter frowned.

"Because I can!" Stiles grinned. "Watch!"

Stiles handed over some money and the bored worker handed Stiles his darts. Stiles used his fingers to clean off the tip of the first dart before throwing it at the board. He missed the balloons completely but then winked at Peter. Stiles cleaned the tip of the second dart and threw it at a balloon and popped it. Stiles cheered and danced in place. He cleaned the third dart and it also popped a balloon. Stiles danced again and threw an arm about Peter. 

"So, what do you... oh! No, I got it," Stiles interrupted himself. He pointed to a stuffed animal and the worker handed it to him. Stiles handed it to Peter. "Not sure if it looks like you, but I couldn't resist!" He smiled broadly.

Peter looked down at the stuffed wolf in his hands. "You didn't."

Stiles doubled over in laughter. "I certainly did!" 

"Take it back." Peter pushed the wolf at Stiles.

"Nope. I won it for you!" 

"Fair and square?"

"Of course not!" Stiles grinned. "I made sure the tips were sharp before I threw them. So I knew the first dart wouldn't do any good, but that the other two would have a chance."

"Huh." Peter looked at the toy. He was suddenly charmed that someone would go to the trouble to win something just for him. He settled the toy in the crook of his arm. "Okay, then."

"Now you get it," Stiles said. Stiles took his hand and led on. 

Stiles stopped at a small number of craft booths where the person in the booth seemed to know him. Peter filed that away for another time. He was fully aware of Stiles' hand in his.

By the time they were done, Peter had eaten too much food, laughed as Stiles did silly things, and had a simply good time. He saw Stiles look longingly at the Ferris wheel but decided the long line was pushing their luck too much. They did ride the carousel, with Peter on a gaudy horse that went up and down. 

It was dark when they made their way back to Stiles' jeep. 

"I'm exhausted," Stiles complained genially. "But that was fun."

"It was," Peter admitted softly. 

"Come on, I have to take you home," Stiles said. "If it gets too much later, someone will raise hell and that won't be pretty."

Peter sighed. "You're right." He got into the jeep and remembered to fasten the seat belt.

"You are trainable," Stiles teased.

Peter sat in contented silence, tired in a good way. Being around too many people, eating too much food, and walking for hours in the afternoon had been good for him.

Stiles went back to the parking lot they had started from. "Come on," Stiles said. He took Peter's hand and led him down the alley between the buildings. As they were about to come out on the next street, Peter tugged Stiles' hand.

"Wait." 

Stiles stopped. 

Before he could think too much about what he was doing, he crowded Stiles against the building, moving close. Stiles' hands dropped on Peter's hips. Peter leaned in for a soft kiss.

Stiles returned the kiss, keeping it soft. Gentle. 

"I have to go," Peter whispered. He inhaled. Cinnamon and mint. Something he'd never forget. 

"I know," Stiles admitted with one last kiss. 

Peter stepped away. Stiles didn't move. "Thank you."

Stiles gave a slightly watery grin. "Go. Before I do something stupid."

"Stupider." Peter grinned.

Stiles barked a small laugh.

Peter made himself turn and walk into the well lit street. He was almost across the street before Erica came racing up to him.

"Where were you? Are you all right? What happened? What is that? Where did you go?" she demanded.

Boyd and the rest of his personal guard surrounded him as he stopped for a moment.

Peter held up a hand and looked at the stuffed wolf in the other. 

"I went to the Holiday Faire," he said easily. "I had a nice day, thank you for asking." As Erica took a breath to ask more questions, Peter said firmly, "I'm fine. That's all you need to know."

"Yes, sir," she said, obviously reluctant.

"We might want to move inside," Peter suggested.

The guard seamlessly fell in place around him and Peter resisted looking back. 

After a long shower and some hot tea, Peter gave a small laugh. Stiles still had his sweater. Oh well. It was a small loss in exchange for an excellent day. 

He fell asleep thinking of dancing amber eyes.

There were extra guards the next day. Peter sighed but he knew better than to protest. His PR person had put off the previous day's events by explaining that _His Majesty is taking some personal time_. Which, since he was a 'wolf threw everyone into a tizzy of speculation since it took a lot to inconvenience a born 'wolf such as Peter. 

"Greenberg, I don't have to explain myself," Peter said firmly. "It was personal. End of story."

Greenberg sighed. Everyone seemed to do that around Peter. 

As Greenberg reluctantly left, Lydia came into the room. 

"What do I have to do today? That is, what do I have to make up for from yesterday?" Peter asked. As his personal assistant Lydia managed his schedule and his daily activities. At least she didn't sigh. At least not in front of him.

"I took care of yesterday, but you owe me one. Today, you have those final interviews," she said. "We've narrowed it down to three and I need your input before we can offer the job to anyone. I won't give you any of our impressions, I want you to make your own."

"Anything else?" Peter asked.

"Just the usual set of crises and international brouhahas," she said. 

"Oh, good," Peter rolled his eyes.

After a staid breakfast, with no pancakes and not enough coffee, Peter had his daily security briefing, met with cabinet members who were each trying to convince him that their pet projects needed to be funded before the other, and posed for pictures with a group of children for something he couldn't remember.

Lunch was just as boring. And no coffee at all, only lemonade. Peter frowned as he drank the lemonade. Why couldn't he have more coffee? 

Late afternoon brought the interviews. The first person was as bland and boring as his breakfast. The second person was at least interesting and could hold a decent conversation. Peter figured he could work with her, if he had to.

Then... a scent of cinnamon and mint! "Your Majesty, Peter Hale, may I present Mieczyslaw Stilinski, who is interviewing for the Emissary position."

"You!" Peter growled.

Stiles gave a broad smile and waved. "Hey!" 

Peter found himself close to Stiles. "You're wearing my sweater." Stiles had layered the sweater over his dress shirt and under the suit coat. It looked good with the suit and Peter's wolf preened that it had helped Stiles look good. Look better.

Stiles shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea. It's actually very nice. I'll admit it confused the heck out of your security people. I played stupid and that woman -- Erica, I think? -- growled at me. That actually was fun!"

"Don't tease the 'wolves," Peter said.

"Aww... but I wanted to tease you," Stiles said softly.

Lydia cleared her throat behind them. "You know each other?"

"Yes," Peter said. "Stiles and I are... old friends." He took a step closer to Stiles and took his hand. "Mieczyslaw Stilinski. As Alpha of the Hale Pack, I offer you the position of Emissary. I ask that you serve as our guide, to identify friends, and protect us from enemies. I ask that you protect our secrets. I invite you to be part of my Pack."

"Alpha Hale. I accept the position of Emissary of the Hale Pack. Your joys will be my joys. Your friends will be my friends. Your enemies will be my enemies. Your secrets will be my secrets. I will serve you and your pack with honor and pride." 

Peter drew Stiles in for a kiss.

They laughed when a petulant Lydia complained, "I don't think kissing is part of the ceremony!"


End file.
